The Perils of Packing
♦ Last week I went to the pub wearing my packing cock. I don’t have any packing pants at the moment, though the fantastic RodeoH are working on that (so excited!), so I settled for tucking my Mr Limpy into a pair of boypants.
I added jeans, a shirt and a tie, but I kept the bra and boobs, because cock or not, I like my boobs. And off I went. Here’s a snap of me getting dressed.
It was fantastic. I’m not sure if my friends noticed, but I don’t much care either way. I felt sexy, confident and slightly turned on. I’m not going to do it all the time, but I do like it.
There is one slight problem with packing in pants that don’t have a pouch, though. Going to the toilet. Down come the pants and, if you don’t have a plan, out will fall the packer. Luckily, I had an idea. Pub toilets may have rohypnol in mind rather than the perils of packing, but beggars can’t be choosers! ♦